Chapter 13
Margaret came to my house one final time before her arrest.
I had security by then.
She did not get past the porch.
I opened the door because I wanted to see her face when she realized the house was still mine.
She stood in black, eyes sharp.
“You have no idea what you are doing.”
“I’m protecting my daughter.”
“She is not your daughter.”
I smiled sadly.
“You keep saying that. It keeps being false.”
Her jaw clenched.
“Elena Ruiz will take her from you.”
“No. Because unlike you, she loves Poppy more than winning.”
Margaret’s face twisted.
“Blood matters.”
“Then you should have loved Claire. You should have loved Poppy. You should have loved Grant enough not to ruin him.”
She flinched at his name.
Good.
“Grant knew,” I said.
“He knew enough to die.”
The words left her mouth before she could stop them.
My breath caught.
Behind me, Lydia, on speaker, whispered, “We got it.”
Margaret realized.
Her face changed.
I had recorded her.
Just like Grant had.
Just like every woman in this family had learned to do because people like Margaret lied in daylight.
Detective Collins arrived ten minutes later.
Margaret did not scream.
She looked at Poppy through the window.
For a second, I thought I saw regret.
Then she said, “That child should have been mine.”
No.
Not regret.
Possession.
They took her away in handcuffs.
Poppy watched from my arms.
“Is Grandma gone?”
“Yes.”
“Was I hers?”
May you like
I kissed her hair.
“No, baby. You were never something to own.”
